Six Feet Under
by roziefae
Summary: She told him that she would be back when this was all finished, but something in the way he looked at her as she walked away made it seem like he didn't believe he would ever see her again. It was understandable, she supposed. After all, most people don't walk away from a bullet to the brain.


Most people don't walk away from a bullet to the brain. Courier Six almost hadn't.

On that night in Goodsprings, when Victor had come crashing up to his door with her held limp in his arms and blood caked all over her face, Doc Mitchell had been sure that she was going to die, yet he had still done all he could to save her. Weeks later, when she woke up, Doc Mitchell was sure that it was a miracle. It was another few weeks before she could speak or stand, and it was months before she regained basic comprehension and motor skills. Doc Mitchell told her that she must have had a sharp mind before she had been shot- stimpaks and therapy alone could only go so far in helping her regain control of herself, and she had improved faster than he had thought possible. By the end of her first year in Goodsprings, she was already walking around town and firing a rifle. Sunny Smiles had said herself that Six was one of the best shots she'd seen around the Mohave in years. Six tried not to let the fact that Sunny had also said that she had never strayed far from Goodsprings deter her joy.

She still had bad moments, of course, and Doc Mitchell had little hope that they would fade over time. Gunshot wounds to the brain were serious business, after all, and they weren't something to just walk off. She still forgot basic words- half the time she wouldn't know the word for something as simple as a spoon or a bullet. She forgot faces often, and started identifying people by voice. Even then, she would have trouble sometimes, especially if she didn't speak to someone daily. The memory problems seeped into daily tasks, too, becoming a normal occurrence, and the people of Goodsprings had become very patient with her, to her relief. Balance problems were also normal. One minute, she would be fine and focused, and the next she would be stumbling and fighting to remain upright. It wasn't like she was nauseous; her vision would just blur sometimes, and the next thing she knew, two Sunny Smiles, Docs, or whoever was around her at the time would be standing over her to help, constantly shifting and moving like they had somehow suddenly gained the ability to hover. Headaches usually came soon after these episodes, but they were not restricted to them.

The nights were the worst. She hated going to sleep, because she was so often plagued with recurring nightmares. The thing was, she didn't remember the man's face- the one who had shot her. In her dreams, she could see it, picture it perfectly, but then the gun fired and she woke up in a cold sweat, and could only remember the vague outline of the man holding the gun and a phantom voice speaking in a garbled language that she couldn't comprehend. The checkered suit was always there in detail, though. It was the only thing she could recall with clarity.

Life was hard. Life was hell. Six knew that it wasn't supposed to be easy, but she almost wished she had never woken up some days, and that Victor had never gone and dug her up out of her grave. Some days, she thought that maybe it had been her time to die and Victor had messed with some kind of natural order. Maybe this was the punishment. She only wished the universe would punish him instead, but she guessed there wasn't much could be done to harm a robot. She tried to remind herself to be grateful when she saw him around town, but she couldn't hold back a subtle resentment, like a bitter taste at the back of her mouth. Victor was not to blame for this, however, and she knew it. The man in the checkered suit was to blame. It all came back to him.

She clung to the shreds of memory she had of that night. The bag coming down over her head, the smell of chloroform. Rope around her wrists, too constricting, too tight. Being sweaty and uncomfortable, claustrophobic and unable to breathe beneath the scratchy canvas sack. Staring down the barrel of a gun on a cold desert night, seeing her own grave and chills running down her spine, goosebumps raising on her flesh. The gunshot. Heavy silence and the smell of earth. She had read the Delivery Order Doc Mitchell had given her over and over again, sometimes multiple times a day. It haunted her. Taunted her. She couldn't remember ever receiving it.

In fact, she didn't even remember her real name. She could barely remember her mother's face. Large chunks of her childhood and her life overall were still there, but there were pieces missing and disconnects. People she didn't recognize, names with no faces, moments with no context. She could remember smells, tastes, and sensations, but not the names of what had made them. She didn't know if she ever would. Six was broken, and she knew it. And she hated it. She hated every last moment of it, even though she tried so hard not to. The only thing that kept her going was hate, and she knew the man who had done this to her was still out there. He was still breathing, all while she was struggling to do daily tasks. It ate her up inside, knowing he had gotten away with what he'd done to her, and it was near the end of her second year in Goodsprings that she decided she had to go after him. She had to, or she would never find peace.

"So you're really leaving," Doc Mitchell said from the door to her room, where she sat on the floor packing. She had been staying with him since Victor had found her, and leaving almost felt like leaving home. Six looked up, and saw a twinkle of worry in the doctors eyes. She took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Yes," she said, slurring only slightly now. Her enunciation had improved drastically from when she had woken up. Doc sighed heavily.

"Sunny told me you were talkin' 'bout hunting that man down," he looked at her seriously, "I told her you knew better."

"Guess I don't," she said carefully. Doc stared at her a moment, then crossed the room to sit on the bed.

"I'm worried," he admitted, tone thick with emotion, "I've come to think of you as family. All of us here do. The way you helped us last year, with Ringo," he stopped talking abruptly here, and Six waited patiently for him to continue, eyes never straying from his face, though his were fixed on the floor. "It's dangerous out there," he said eventually, "I just don't know if you're ready to be on your own." Six exhaled slowly in annoyance. She knew he was right, of course, but he was only echoing worries that she had been chewing over for days now. Weeks, even. These concerns were nothing new, and hearing them vocalized only weakened her resolve.

"Have to," she said slowly, "He doesn't deserve..." she paused, unsure of how to progress. Doc looked at her, and she knew that he was well aware of her meaning. He closed his eyes and sighed again.

"I know you're set," he said, "Guess I don't have no choice but t'let you go. Ain't like you're a child."

"No," she agreed, glad that he would support her. Feeling much more confident, she smiled at him, "I'm a good shot." Doc laughed, knowing that she meant to reassure him that she would be fine. He stood up, dusting off his hands just to keep them moving.

"I know you are. Sunny Smiles sings your praises up and down the saloon," his smile faded, and he turned serious again, "But there's worse out there than geckos an' bugs an' _bottles_, Six. I know you had your reserves with the Powder Gangers, an' I want you to know you need t'be prepared to shoot any_thing_ or any_one. _You read me?" she nodded, trying not to think about the incident from last year. The way the men had dropped like flies. The way she hadn't been able to shoot, not until Cheyenne had run off out of control and taken a bullet to the leg. The way she had fired without hesitation after that, not wasting a bullet, not missing once. She was a good shot, to be sure, but she was better at picking flowers for Sunny and playing Caravan and fixing radios that had been broken for who knows how long. She didn't even like killing geckos, not really, but she never said anything about it to anyone.

"Good," Doc Mitchell said now, "When were you planning on leavin'?"

"Um," she paused, and then zipped up her bag, "Soon."

"How soon?" Doc asked, "'Cause I sure as hell ain't sendin' you out there without heaping supplies on you, an' I need time to get those ready," she beamed up at him, and, "How soon?" he prompted again, noticing that she had overlooked his question.

"Today," she said, and his face fell slightly, "Sorry."

"That's okay," he sighed, his tone heavy with worry. She stood up and followed him as he walked out of the room, hefting her bag up onto her shoulders. They stepped outside, and Doc squinted up at the midday sun. He didn't speak for a few more moments, just watching the clouds and the settlers go about their business. Six could see Victor rolling around in the distance. It looked like he was headed their way, "You know where you're headed?"

"Primm," Six said after a few seconds of deliberation, "It's on, um. Pip-Boy. Uh, the map."

"Well, that'll guide you as good as anything," he squinted up at the graveyard and then at Victor, who was nearing them at a quick pace, "Looks like your robot buddy wants t'talk. I'll go get your supplies ready now, s'you can leave before it gets dark."

He went back inside, and Six walked unsteadily down the slope to meet Victor. Bitter feelings welled up in her gut, but she suppressed them and forced a smile when Victor drew near. She reminded herself again that it was the man in the checkered suit that she hated. She did not hate Victor. She didn't.

"Well howdy, partner!" Victor said as he came to a halt in front of her. He offered her an arm to help steady her, and she took it with relief, leaning on it heavily because she knew he wouldn't feel it, "I hear talk that you're high-tailin' it out of town! Bet you were gonna tell ol' Victor 'fore you left, though, right?" she nodded, keeping the thin smile, though she had had no intention of telling him. She hadn't even planned on saying goodbye or explaining herself to anyone, actually, but now it seemed that they all knew anyway. Had Sunny told everyone? "Well, ain't that sweet of ya. As it turns out, I suddenly feel an itch to travel as well! Ain't that a coincidence!"

"You'd leave?" she asked, puzzled. She had always had the impression that Goodsprings was Victor's permanent residence, seeing that he had made himself a shack in town some time ago, even before she had wound up there.

"You bet your bonnet!" he laughed, face flickering, "So I don't see why we can't travel together, for a time. While our paths are one an' the same. Seems awful convenient, 'specially considerin' your situation," resentment flared up in her stomach, but this was a good thing, and she knew it. She just didn't like is tone, was all, "So where you headed, little lady?" She burned to say that it was none of his business and that he should roll himself straight to hell, but forced herself to keep her anger bottled up. Victor was nice. He was polite.

"Primm," she said, and Victor laughed.

"Well ain't that just serendipity itself! It just so happens that I will be headin' right on by Primm on my way," she fought the urge to narrow her eyes in suspicion. Just where was he going, anyway? She had never trusted Victor, no matter how nice he had been, and by all rights, she had no reasons to distrust him. He had saved her life, after all, and had been nothing but good to her, always watching over her and checking up on her. There was just something about him that made her uneasy.

"I'm... um, good," she said, unable to find the correct word. It was the right sentiment, anyway, and that was all that mattered, "We can leave. Um. Soon."

"That works out just fine for me!" Victor said, just as Doc Mitchell returned with Six's supplies.

They said their goodbyes, and Doc promised to tell everyone she was sorry and that she would miss them. She told him that she would be back when this was all finished, but something in the way he looked at her as she walked away made it seem like he didn't believe he would ever see her again. It was understandable, she supposed.

After all, most people don't walk away from a bullet to the brain.

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><p>i've been wanting to wright a fallout fic for quite a while! as you can probably tell, this fic will be more of an adaption than a straight-from-the-game fic, so a lot things won't be like they were in the game. im not using any of the game dialogue unless im having trouble, either, so i hope i do a good job keeping people in character!<p>

also, in later chapters this story will be boone/courier, so i'll be looking forward to that, and i hope you will too. thanks so much for reading!


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